Being loved is easy - it warms us, makes us secure and comforted. It is easy to receive, even with the slight burden of expected reciprocation it carries. Being loved affirms and reinforces our sense of self worth, it cossets and buffers us from the harshness of self doubt. And you may absorb the fulness of love from many while remaining relatively unchanged.

But loving another is not so. It stretches us outside of ourselves, it leads us into pain and doubt and hardship. It requires us to efface ourselves for the purpose of observing the beloved, and it requires us to admit the possibility or reality of being unrequited in our passions. To love another is to experience their pain, to give the veto over your happiness, to place the guardianship of one part of your joy, and peace, and fulfilment in the hands of one who may heed the responsibility little. It is not actually a great joy to love - it is far more pleasurable to receive than to give.

However, I fear that to love is the only path to growth and change and self-understanding. I fear it is the only way by which we increase, make ourselves richer, experience transformation, undergo disappointment and emerge more aware of our own strength and resilience. We love not because it feels good, but because it is good for us.